


The Wind Whispers His Name

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 10:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy, love, life, death. Lucius' name has always been connected to deep emotions and important events for Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wind Whispers His Name

**1972**

He can hear them outside the heavy curtains; ghostly sounds muffled by dusty, green velvet. He pulls the blankets over his head, hiding in his small cave of old mahogany and ragged fabric. Sometimes he pretends they are spirits, floating around his bed to keep him awake. He knows better, though. He feels it in his lanky body, barely maturing; in the way it tightens and longs for the invisible, the unobtainable.

'Lucius,' a voice whispers outside, weakened by beds and walls and maybe by Lucius' lips on someone's mouth. Oh, Severus knows what is going on, knows in a way that is more instinct than knowledge. The soft creaking of bed-springs, a dull, choked moan... He knows. Merlin, he knows.

The jealousy haunts him. It is there, inside him, quiet voices that breathe ice-cold fire, voices he can't keep out by dragging the large pillows over his head. 'Lucius,' he whispers into the white cotton, inaudibly.

Come morning, the ghosts are gone, the whispers silent. There are no traces of Lucius' bedfellow, the House-elves have left the bed made and clean.

Severus sits quietly at the Slytherin table. Lucius leaves today.

The memory stays.

 

**1978**

'Severus, how pleasant to see you.' Lucius' voice surrounds him: a caress undone, a touch unmade. Lucius' costly robe would pale in comparison, were tailors able to cut that voice and create something wonderful from it. Silk is rough compared to it, brocade is bleak and boring, velvet thin and limp and hard.

He turns, a sarcastic eyebrow raised as a sword in self-defence, a sharp reply ready, a shield against Lucius' lures. 'Lucius.' He nods, curtly, as far from courteous as can be. 'What is it today,' Severus purrs, his voice a steel dagger. 'Dark Arts folios? Dinner in Diagon Alley? A House-elf?' He huffs arrogantly in a way not even Lucius Malfoy could have done better. 'I never thought you to be so dense.'

'Dense?' the Malfoy heir says, narrowing his eyes. 'I doubt it.'

'Aha.' Severus smiles, and the smile is razor-sharp. 'One would have thought you had discovered that sweet words whispered in my ear about the Dark Lord's reign are absolutely unnecessary.' Again the eyebrow is raised. 'And you have yet to offer me something I really want.'

Lucius returns the smile. 'Why don't you tell me, then?' he whispers softly, 'Tell me what you need.'

 

**1978**

'Lucius! Oh Lord, Lucius!'

Severus cries out as Lucius' body is over him, inside him; encasing them both in the whisper of sliding skin, of tender hands and rough kisses. The warm silk of Lucius' intruding tongue; the velvet crush of his hands, fisted in black hair; the weave of sensations: deep pleasure, slight pain, overwhelming ecstasy mingle and create the beautiful fabric of his desire. His need is a tapestry of clashing colours, some harsh, some soft, but they all paint this alluring picture; an illusion of the life Severus is not sure if he can have but wants so badly. He doesn't even know if Lucius feels anything for him. Severus wants Lucius so intensely. Sadly, there are so many deeds and people who separate them.

But at least once he has been in Lucius Malfoy's bed. At least once it was _his_ voice, whispering muffled words into the pillows, into Lucius' kiss.

Come morning, Lucius is still there. Waking up in a warm embrace is the most satisfying thing Severus has ever experienced. He looks into Lucius' eyes and sees nothing but tenderness and need. He raises an eyebrow questioningly.

'Stay,' Lucius asks. 'Stay.'

 

**1998**

The world returns and disappears. The dim fog clings to his mind, persistently, like dust clings to the worn, ruined furniture and the rags that go for curtains. He sinks into the darkness of nothing, stays there for some time. Voices wake him up: gauzy silhouettes hover in the air, watching him. It is time, they tell him, time for him to decide.

He doesn't know who they are, the ghostly apparitions. He likes the quiet in the dark, the silence. He likes that no one looks at him as if he was the devil incarnate. He likes that he remembers to have forgotten that he was used—and that he was paid for the use in death and pain. He likes the peace. No one whispers to him, no one demands anything, no one blames him. He knows he will pay for the darkness with his life. His memories are fading: the final sacrifice, a payment for his redemption.

Then a leftover memory flickers like lightning inside him; a memory of deep pleasure, of silver-blond hair and loving kisses.

'Lucius,' he whispers, and his hand closes around the small bottle of anti-venom and Blood-replenishing potion he always carries with him.

 

**2000**

The crisp sound of the late autumn's fallen leaves crushed under his feet rises and intermingles with the spicy scent of damp earth. Many-fingered, a naked elm waves at the moon; a thin silver sickle at the beginning of its voyage over the darkened sky. The graves are nothing but little squares in the grass, marking lost lives. Wasted lives. He knows exactly where his stone is. He has been here before, always in secret.

He kneels, letting his fingers trace the silken surface of the polished stone, his name is imprinted there, even if they never buried his body. He has been here before, never letting others see him.

For a moment he lingers before he walks over the golden-brown autumn-carpet. The trees whisper to him, offering their shadows—-darker, even, than the approaching night. Slowly, he disappears into darkness, hidden. He has been here before, but never let his presence be known.

Tonight he will. Tonight he will whisper with the trees, whisper the name of his beloved. Tonight.

There is a smile on his lips when he sees his lover walk towards the empty grave.

'Lucius,' he says quietly, and steps back amongst the living.


End file.
